So what does the torment, the Way of the Cross of a film director in Poland look like? First, the idea is put forward. Several pages are presented explaining that we'll be making this film, or that it'll be an adaptation of such and such a story. Then the political authorities would decide whether they wanted this or not. This was the first decision. Then the screenplay was written which was either accepted or rejected. Sometimes, they demanded a breakdown of the screenplay which meant an even more technical version, and then that would have to be approved, too. Sometimes, the less confident authorities would give themselves one more opportunity to reject it: let them write a breakdown of the screenplay and then we'll see if we'll make this film. This came first. Then came the making of the film - freedom, do what you like. This was the best, and it's thanks to this that Polish cinema had its great victory. But this is where the fun came to an end because now the man in charge took the film away and watched it with several comrades. Who, what, how, whom he asked for advice were things we could never find out. It was only after he had conferred that he called the director, in this case, me, and said, 'Well, Mr Andrzej, we've been thinking and this, this and this needs to be cut. That, that and that can't be in this film.' That's when the negotiating starts about whether it's really necessary to cut the scenes or not. Sometimes, the director would try to obtain a softer sentence from a higher authority so then, provided he was allowed to, he'd go to the Department of Culture in the Central Committee, which was the body that directed our minister of cinematography, and tried to bargain there, so to speak. Once the director had made all of the negotiated changes, the film was given a collective viewing meaning that those members of the film world who were authorised, plus artisitc directors of the film studios, their literary directors, the political directors of cinematography, yet none of the censors was ever present. I never in my life saw a censor present, or perhaps once. The censor was in the background, maybe he was more visible in literature because they had to talk there but he was still encoded, so to speak. In short, once the director of cinematography had got everything he wanted from the film director, he permitted the collective viewing which meant he'd decided to back this film's general release. At this moment, a decision was made, we accepted the collective viewing. The lads would still add a few more ideas about what should be cut, what changed, but a blind eye could be turned to all of that. Then it would be decided that the film could go on general release. However, two issues remained undecided: could the film be released abroad, and could the film be shown at festivals. These were quite separate decisions. What happened here was that the film was released.

Polish film director Andrzej Wajda (1926-2016) was a towering presence in Polish cinema for six decades. His films, showing the horror of the German occupation of Poland, won awards at Cannes and established his reputation as both story-teller and commentator on Poland's turbulent history. As well as his impressive career in TV and film, he also served on the national Senate from 1989-91.

Cinematographer Jacek Petrycki was born in Poznań, Poland in 1948. He has worked extensively in Poland and throughout the world. His credits include, for Agniezka Holland, Provincial Actors (1979), Europe, Europe (1990), Shot in the Heart (2001) and Julie Walking Home (2002), for Krysztof Kieslowski numerous short films including Camera Buff (1980) and No End (1985). Other credits include Journey to the Sun (1998), directed by Jesim Ustaoglu, which won the Golden Camera 300 award at the International Film Camera Festival, Shooters (2000) and The Valley (1999), both directed by Dan Reed, Unforgiving (1993) and Betrayed (1995) by Clive Gordon both of which won the BAFTA for best factual photography. Jacek Petrycki is also a teacher and a filmmaker.